To Vex
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Derek is in the middle of hunting down a deadly creature when Chris Argent appears to save the day and strip off his shirt. Blame it on the gremlins. Warning: setting is post season 3, so minor spoilers. Mild slash. One-shot.


A/N: Written as part of the Teen Wolf Spring Break Exchange on AO3 for Dedougal, using the prompts Chris/Derek & "pretend boyfriends". One-shot (and will probably stay that way). Post season 3. Something about these two in season three made me pick up a dusty pair of slash goggles. I'd classify this story as "pre-ship", but there is some slight interaction.

* * *

The rain pinged off the metal roof and walls of the aircraft hangar, throwing off Derek's keen senses, but still, crouched in the shadows off the building, he could hear the scrape of claws ripping apart whatever machinery remained inside.

The werewolf raised his head, blue eyes flashing in the darkness as he tried to find the creature's scent beneath the water and the layered odor of oil and gasoline and paint. It was there, just barely, a tickling sensation in his nostrils that had to belong to whatever was inside, but Derek couldn't put a name to it. Which worried him.

He'd been expecting a wolf, a rabid omega, after looking into the deaths of a teenage couple found...scattered across the abandoned property. But this wasn't a wolf, and it wasn't anything he could claim to have encountered before.

_Clap. Clap. Clap. _Quick steps, shoe soles slapping wet, broken pavement. Someone trying to escape the storm. The hollow thud of drops hitting an umbrella...

Derek dipped his body lower at the new sound. He'd been listening so closely to the beast inside the hangar, he hadn't heard the human approaching the other side of the building. Derek bit down a curse. He'd been here for hours. He'd _known _the security officer would be making another round, but he hadn't expected him back so soon. Derek had seen him the first time, an eighty-year-old man who served as a poor deterrent to the local teens who liked to frequent the 'haunted' airport. Even if the man was armed, he'd be no match against whatever was inside.

"_Someone there?"_

The timid question was faint and not directed at him, but it pushed Derek into action. He dove forward at a full run, rounding the side of the hangar in seconds and letting loose a pitched, angry growl.

The footsteps stopped, the old man's heartbeat almost matching the tempo of the rainfall, and they began again, _clapclapclap, _headed away from the building at a hobbled run.

Derek released a sigh of relief and leaned into the shadows of the building once more. It didn't occur to him for another second, but the movement inside the building had come to a sudden pause.

Lightning flashed in the gray-blue clouds above, and he saw the black seam of an open door in the wall ahead. Another flash and _it_ was in front of him, the silhouette of an ape-like being, fleshy instead of furred and a sickly shade of yellow-green.

"What the hell are you?" Derek muttered.

He lashed out, catching the thing's arm before it could strike, but the creature was stronger than expected, sliding out of his grip, its long, metallic claws slipping into his chest like a trow into mud. Derek howled in anger, kicking out and knocking the creature back a step. Something inside his chest snapped against the bones of his ribs and he collapsed onto the crumbled sidewalk, blood at the back of his throat as he coughed, trying to catch his breath. He felt himself slip out of his beta form, his body putting all of its energy into healing, but the sharp pain in his lung didn't fade the way it should have.

The rain pounding against his back, pasting his hair to his head, was blocked, and he could feel the creature looming over him. His pack, if he was still considered a part of it, was too far away to hear him here. He was alone, and he didn't even know the name of the thing about to rip him apart.

Two dull cracks echoed against the hangar's thin wall.

For a moment, Derek thought the creature had made the sound. _Gunshots,_ a voice in his head amended, almost too late. A body collapsed beside him. Derek pushed himself up onto his knees, crawling a few feet from its twitching form. The creature was still moving, even with half its skull missing.

"Derek, watch your eyes!"

Derek heard the warning just in time, turning his head as a flash of purple exploded beside him. He winced, feeling the heat, but it wasn't close enough to burn him. When he looked back, the creature was dissolving in on itself, its back covered in a low lavender flames that hissed in the rainfall and a shattered vial.

He blinked at the strange sight, failing to fight off the gray blurring his vision, and felt a wave of drunkenness wash over him. He didn't fight when two hands reached beneath his arms, pulling him toward the hangar door and out of the weather.

"Goddamn it, Derek!"

The words sounded distant but the werewolf was certain they were coming from right beside him.

"...idiot werewolf. Can you hear me, Hale? Just hold on."

Derek coughed, choking on something wet, and felt a weight on his lap. The light from the high windows was faint, but he could see the face hovering over him, and he had absolutely no clue why he'd be hallucinating about Chris Argent of all people. He couldn't seem to catch his breath to ask that question.

Chris's lips were moving, the hunter trying to explain something, but his voice faded to a dull ringing. Then he raised a pocket knife, and Derek realized it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare, a familiar one, about an Argent finally finishing him off.

The blade felt red-hot as it dug into his wounds. Derek wanted to lash out, but the hunter's knees were holding down his wrists, keeping him pinned in place.

"Just one more..."

Chris's voice came through again, like a snowy channel finding a signal. And if Derek hadn't known better, he would sworn the hunter was trying to sooth him.

"Almost got it," Chris said, softly.

Derek felt something pull free from his chest and the burning disappeared, replaced by the ache of a healing wound. The moment his lung began to repair, he gasped for breath, his senses snapping back to their usual sharpness.

"What...happened?"

Chris sat up slightly, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the question. It was such an unexpected gesture that Derek raised a brow in surprise.

"Its claws broke off inside you," Chris said, shifting so that he was no longer sitting on the werewolf. "They were disintegrating and would have poisoned you if they'd stayed inside. I had to dig them out."

Derek raised his head, still feeling the dizzying rush of bloodloss, and glanced down. His shirt was ripped off, barely hanging on by the sleeves, his bare chest already beginning to heal itself.

"What was that thing?" Derek asked, reaching up to wipe the blood off his chin.

Chris glanced back over his shoulder, wincing at whatever he saw at the open door. Then Derek heard it too, what he should have heard much earlier if his wounds hadn't been distracting him. A car was approaching. One with a siren. Derek grimaced in frustration. Just what he needed.

"We need to get out of here."

When he tried to sit up, Chris grabbed his shoulder, holding him down. "You're not healed on the inside. You won't even make it out of the hangar."

"I can move faster than _you_."

"Sit still," Chris snapped.

Without meaning to, Derek obeyed, eyes widening when the hunter lifted him just enough to tear loose the remains of his ruined shirt. Chris wadded it in a ball, tucking his knife and gun at its center, and tossed it behind a scrapped crop-duster that hadn't seen the sky in years. Then the man collapsed down beside him again, wearing a heavy frown.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, confused.

"I understand this place is well known to the locals," Chris said, as if in answer.

A second later, Chris was straddling him again, this time leaning down onto his torso. Pain from his healing wounds shot through his body, and Derek opened his mouth to curse...And found lips covering his.

Derek raised his hands to Chris's waist, ready to shove the man off but stopped when Chris groaned into his open mouth. The kiss was rough, deep and wanting. A current of pleasure slipped down Derek's throat and straight to his groin, distracting him from his protest. His hips bucked in response, his fingers tangling in the man's jacket, pulling him closer. For a moment, the grind of denim on denim was all too appealing.

"Ah, hell, Andy."

Chris jumped at the sound of the voice, but Derek could tell it was a delayed reaction, a ruse. Derek knew that whatever shock was showing on his own face, however, was genuine. He looked up, wide-eyed, and immediately winced at the glaring flashlights shining in his eyes thanks to two men standing at the hangar door. Both were uniformed, one a local, the other the elderly security officer.

And suddenly the kiss made sense. It was a classic technique, after all.

Derek dropped his head back against the concrete beneath him, glaring daggers up at a seemingly startled Chris Argent. Chris, for his part, faked embarrassment well, taking a delayed moment to realize his position and then pouncing back off of Derek, hands raised for the sake of the officers.

"This isn't what it looks like," Chris assured.

The cop snorted in response. "Yeah, sure, buddy. You two, off the floor. Now." He shook his head at the security officer. "Andy, I thought you said you heard an animal."

"But I..." The old man's gaze narrowed in on Derek. "Mr. Hale?"

The cop raised a brow. "You know him, Andy?"

"He was here asking about the animal attack earlier. His, uh..." The old man's face flushed a bit. "His family owns the place."

Chris glanced down at Derek, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he looked far from amused.

"You called me down on the owners? Jesus, Andy," the cop snapped.

"I heard a growl!"

Derek pushed himself up onto one elbow. "It's no problem," he interrupted. "You were just doing your job but..." he gestured out at his own half-dressed form "...would you mind taking the night off."

The old man nodded, averting his eyes. "Of course, of course."

The pair slipped out, muttering their apologies, and the cop complaining about letting 'rich shits' get away with lewd conduct.

"Owner?" Chris asked, as soon as they were out the door.

"My family used to own several properties," Derek said, quietly. "This is still Hale territory, even outside of Beacon Hills. Why do you think I'm here?"

Chris had the decency to look uncomfortable.

Derek shook his head. "Let's get back to the part where you tell me what the hell that was you just killed."

"A gremlin." Chris cut him off before he could reply. "Yes, they're real. In a sense. They're created by magic-users to cause harm to their enemies. It's the same type of creature as the golem, but put to a different purpose."

"To take down aircraft?" Derek was a bit skeptical.

"Nazi sorcerers in World War II used them for that purpose, yes. That's when these things picked up the name 'gremlin'. It comes from the Old English word_ gremian_, 'to vex'." Chris gave a small smile. "I believe it fits the name."

"And how did this one get here. This hangar hasn't been used in nearly a decade."

"My guess? Someone who wished one of the pilots harm raised it right before the fire. After this place shut down, it didn't have a purpose, so it fed on the machinery here...Somewhere along the line, it must have fed on blood. It's rare, but gremlins have been known to become carnivorous if the one who created them doesn't give them purpose."

Derek shook his head. "That leaves me with more questions, but I have the feeling you won't be able to answer them."

Chris crouched down to one knee and shook his head. "Probably not. But I can answer one question I know you want to ask."

"I don't need to ask why you're here and not in France with Isaac," Derek replied. He pulled himself into a sitting position. "You heard about Kate. Should I even ask who told you?"

Chris didn't reply. "I'm going to stay. Until it's finished."

"Until she's dead," Derek clarified.

Chris didn't so much as wince. "Until she's dead," he said, quietly. He was still a moment, gaze distant, but the brief grief that crossed his features was gone an instant later, replaced by curiosity as he looked Derek over. "How are the ribs?"

Derek prodded them gently. "Back in place. Almost done healing, but I think I'll feel them in the morning."

Chris' gaze lingered, and Derek caught a faint scent. For a moment, he thought it was his own arousal, but no. It was familiar, though, a scent he'd noticed once before, when he'd been working with Chris in the months previous. It was something Derek had had no reason to comment on then, but now, after that kiss... Spending time with horny teenagers had taught him to ignore those natural musks, and he hadn't even considered that the scent might have been a response to _him_.

Derek opened his mouth, but thought better of bringing it up, of rubbing it in, how another Argent was lusting after a werewolf. The memory of Allison kept him from wanting to draw the comparison. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to hurt Chris. In fact, he wanted the opposite. "I'll help you," Derek said, "with Kate. You shouldn't have to hunt her alone."

Chris looked as if he might protest, but he only shrugged one shoulder and stood up, offering Derek his hand. "Then we have work to do."

Derek took it, biting down a small smile. "Welcome back, Chris."


End file.
